The Night Before Christmas - MFU style
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: The title pretty much says it all. What is Illya hearing up on the rooftop? Part of the 25 Days of Christmas fic series


Illya opened his eyes and wondered just when he'd fallen asleep. He didn't even remember crawling into bed. Beside him, Napoleon snored softly and Illya considered, just for a second, poking him awake, then thought better of it.

They'd both had a very full day. Now that Mr. Waverly's family had grown, the old folks liked to head to their family cabin in Vermont. When Illya heard of it, he envisioned a log cabin complete with an outhouse and an outside pump for water.

The reality was about as far away from his speculation as could be. The house was two levels and came complete with every modern convenience available. Mrs. Waverly explained patiently that while it was a place to get away, it was a place to get away to, not from. She didn't want to make do anymore than was absolutely necessary. And this year, she decided that Napoleon and Illya were absolutely necessary as their bodyguards.

Illya had considered arguing with Napoleon about it, but the look in his partner's eyes stopped him. Since their last affair, Napoleon had been changed, quiet and introspective. Illya offered his ear, his counsel, and even his shoulder, but Napoleon declined. The psychiatrists had deemed Napoleon fine, but Illya wasn't so sure.

The drive was long over icy roads and Illya still felt it in his neck and shoulders, despite a hot bath and a long massage by Napoleon's expert fingers.

When Napoleon had offered to take the couple to Christmas Eve midnight mass, Illya happily agreed and went to bed.

Only to wake up now. _What woke me_? He wondered as he sat up and listened. There was not a sound, save Napoleon's soft snoring.

"I don't snore," Napoleon protested once when Illya remarked upon it and usually he was right. Yet, every once in a while, Napoleon snored and it amused Illya to no end.

Illya climbed out of bed and pulled on his robe. While the house wasn't freezing, it was still a bit nippy when climbing out of the warm cocoon of a bed.

Barefoot, he walked across the carpet and paused before the window. A full moon made the meadow glisten and sparkle and Illya smiled. This reminded him so much of back home when he'd untangle himself from his brothers and sisters and sit for hours, dreaming, in front of the bedroom window.

Something moved and Illya jerked his head in that direction. He couldn't tell, but it looked like a person and Illya's eyes squinted.

Then he heard a noise coming from the roof. He froze and listened hard until he recognized the likely cause. The west side of the cabin was flanked by tall pine trees and pine cones had been falling all afternoon. There was nothing now, but he knew he'd not sleep until he'd made a tour of the house, just to be on the safe side.

Slipping his pistol from beneath his pillow, he dropped into his robe's pocket and moved quietly out of the room.

The first room he checked with that of Mr. and Mrs. Waverly. They were both blissfully asleep and Illya smiled at their peaceful slumber. They were cuddled together and Illya wondered if he'd ever find someone to share his life and love with. Both seemed so unlikely at the moment.

He was closing a closet door when a mere whisper of a sound came up to him from the first floor. Immediately, he went to the head of the stairs and froze. There was a definite movement.

Illya drew the weapon and moved carefully down the stairs. He'd memorized the various creaks and cracks that they made that afternoon and now avoided the trouble spots as best he could.

The fire had been nothing but smoldering embers when he checked it before bed, but now the flickering light from it made shadows bounce and play across the wall.

For a moment, he stopped, chastising himself for his imagination, and then one of the shadows moved contrary to the others. There was, indeed, someone in the parlor.

Cursing, Illya slipped the safety off his weapon and moved quickly down the last few steps. Since he was barefoot, he made no noise as he eased closer to the room and he peeked around the edge of the door.

In the corner stood a fresh pine tree, now wearing its holiday best. It had been waiting for them when they arrived. At Mrs. Waverly's insistence, Illya and Napoleon had wrestled it into the house and then they'd decorated it. That was a first for Illya. He'd seen many trees, but he'd never had an opportunity to hang ornaments and string lights. There were extra boughs for the mantle and the room smelled spectacular, fresh and crisp.

However, the room seemed to have more items strewn about than earlier, but Illya had no idea what the Waverlys or Napoleon might have been up to after their return from church. Perhaps they'd done additional decorating before calling it a night.

A figure was standing with his back to Illya and Illya took that opportunity to move quickly from the doorway to behind a chair. It gave him a better view of the intruder.

_This joker certainly isn't the most fit THRUSH assassin_, Illya thought as he studied his assailant. The man's belly hung over his wide black belt. _And I certainly wouldn't have picked red for this job._

He shifted position and his foot caught an electrical cord and the lamp on the end table rocked. He caught it and immediately dropped from sight as a head turned in his direction.

The man chuckled softly as if he found Illya's observation interesting. It irritated Illya to be laughed at in such a condescending manner.

_Well, let's see how funny he'll find UNCLE interrogation. _Illya glanced down at the floor to re-verify the position of the electric cord and when he glanced up, the man was gone. Completely and totally gone. Not only was the man gone, but room abruptly went dark as if the fire was quickly extinguished.

"What?" Illya stood and clicked on the light. He looked around the very empty room and made a rude noise. There was no way the man could have exited past him and the alarms on the windows would have sounded if they'd been opened. "What is going on here? Where did you go?"

Illya searched the rest of the first floor, but found no one and all the alarms on the windows and doors checked clear. Puzzled, Illya re-verified that all the alarms were set and went back to bed.

Illya checked again on the sleeping couple before he headed back to the room he was sharing with his partner. Napoleon was still very asleep. Walking to the window, Illya glanced out and startled. He swore he saw something moving across a now cloudy sky. Illya blinked twice and looked again. The moon came out and illuminated the flock of geese as they flew.

Without even bothering to pull off his robe, Illya crawled into the bed and sighed. Perhaps Napoleon could explain in the morning what happened.

"Hey, Illya, wake up."

Illya blurrily blinked his eyes and squinted at the sunlight flooding the room. "Go away." His eyes felt gritty and all his joints ached, a sad but inevitable side effect of their line of work.

"No, you have got to see this. Get up!" Napoleon shook him roughly, but his voice was gentle. . "This is incredible."

Illya fought his way free of the blankets and sheets and reached for his robe. Then he realized he was still wearing it.

"Were you cold last night?" Napoleon obviously noticed.

"Not really, I just couldn't be bothered to take it off." Illya finger combed his hair and, yawning, he followed Napoleon down the stairs and into the parlor. The reflection of the sun off the snow made the room almost blindingly bright.

Mrs. Waverly came up to him and hugged him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Kuryakin! Did you do this?"

"Do what, Ma'am?" He was careful to avert his mouth just in case he had morning breath. It was apparent all three had been up a bit longer than him.

"This! All of… THIS!" She spun with her arms in the air and Illya then realized that there were stacks of presents under the tree. Four very full stockings clung precariously to the mantle where there'd been none before. There were piles of holidays sweets on the tables and the room smelled of pine and cinnamon.

"No, Ma'am. This is nothing of my doing, although we did have an intruder last night. It was the strangest thing."

"Illya?" Napoleon was suddenly all business.

"Report, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly looked up from an easy chair where he was stuffing tobacco into a pipe.

"Something woke me last night. I came down stairs and discovered an intruder. Before I was able to confront him, he eluded me and escaped."

"How could he have done that, Illya? None of the alarms went off. I went through the log this morning."

"I'm not sure, Napoleon. One minute he was here and the next, he vanished. I would have thought it a dream, but I'm still wearing my robe. I didn't take it off last night before going back to bed."

"I know!" Mrs. Waverly clapped her hands together and laughed. "You saw Santa Claus."

"Who?"

"Santa Claus, Kris Kringle? St. Nicholas? Roly poly guy in a red suit?"

"The gentleman was overweight and he was wearing red, which I thought was an odd color choice for breaking and entering." Illya sat down on the sofa, not hating the warmth of the fire. Nor the cup of coffee Napoleon offered him.

"I never thought you one prone to hallucinations, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Nor I, sir. I'm sorry that he escaped me."

"It doesn't matter, Alexander. We are fine and nothing was taken, just the opposite, in fact. None of these packages were here when we went to bed." Martha picked up a present and handed it to her husband. "This one is for you."

He took it with a still steady hand and held it at arm's length to read the card. "To a cherished friend from a grateful world. Thank you." He tore off the paper and gasped. "My word, I've not seen this in twenty years!"

"What is it?" Napoleon moved closer.

"Pipe tobacco. They stopped making this back in the 30's. I was thinking on the way up here how much I missed it. We would always share a pipe or two on Christmas Eve with our commanding officers. Where on earth did you find it, dear?" He opened the tin and inhaled. "Heavenly."

"Not me, Alexander." His wife was smiling fondly at his actions. "This is not my doing at all."

Waverly glanced over at his two agents and shook his head, knowing the two men knew nothing of his past save the sanitized version he gave UNCLE. "My… goodness." He immediately set to knocking out his ashes even as Martha handed a package to Napoleon.

"This one is for you, dear."

"A grandmother's love never dies." Napoleon read and he opened the package and pulled out a brilliant green sweater. "I'll be damned."

"Napoleon, what's wrong?"

"My grandmother used to knit me one of these every year from Christmas. I remember thinking I could really use one of her sweaters this year and it sort of put me in a morose frame of mind."

"That has been what was bothering you as of late?"

"Just feeling a little old, I guess. But she's been dead since before I joined UNCLE." He tugged it on and laughed. "It fits perfectly."

Mrs. Waverly had grown very quiet and was staring at a piece of jewelry.

"What is it, my dear?" Waverly puffed out a great cloud of smoke and set the pipe aside.

"This is my charm bracelet." She held it up for everyone to see. "Every time I hit a milestone, my father would buy me a charm to commemorate the moment." She started to cry and Waverly went to her.

"Shh, shh, my dear. What's wrong?"

"I gave this to a metal drive as my sacrifice to the war effort. It was melted down for bullets. My sister and I were just discussing it a few weeks ago and I mentioned how much I missed it. But ,how? And who?"

Illya looked towards the window and slowly shook his head. He startled slightly as Napoleon's arm slipped around his shoulder.

"Fat guy in a red suit, huh?" Napoleon murmured.

"Yes." Illya's response was equally soft.

"Then I'm going to chalk it up to the magic of the season, _tovarish_."

"It would have to be magic to get you to put on a sweater that green." Napoleon's arm tightened and Illya smiled. He was warm, comfortable, and in good company. His partner was safe and content once again, they were well and whole. He'd be a fool to ask for any more of life.

"Mr. Kuryakin, there's a package here for you. For the young man who has lost the ability to play." Martha grunted slightly as she hefted a large package towards him. "It's rather heavy."

Illya came to the package instead, kneeling on the floor beside the box. Carefully, he eased the paper open.

"Illya, what are you doing?" Napoleon carried a plate of breakfast strudel to Mrs. Waverly.

"The paper is attractive I didn't want to ruin it." The truth was that he'd not received a package quite like this before and he wanted to make the suspense last.

Oh, good grief, I hate paper savers." But Napoleon merely buttoned up his sweater.

"That's an excellent color for you, dear." Mrs. Waverly took a bit of breakfast strudel for herself and Napoleon then passed the plate to his employer. "What did you...? Mr. Kuryakin, what's wrong? You've gone quite pale."

"It's my… but this is impossible." Illya pulled a shiny English horn from the box. "This was destroyed a few months ago. I was going to buy a new one, but I couldn't find anything I liked."

"A duplicate?" Napoleon set the plate down and joined him.

"If it is, it's exactly down to the smallest detail." He ran a finger over his father's inscription upon it and smiled at the small nick just to the left of it, an arrival gift from La Guardia. He shivered then. "I don't understand."

Napoleon grinned and just shook his head. "Magic of the season, my friend, and leave it at that." He straightened and walked to the window. Opening it, he stuck his head out and bellowed. "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"


End file.
